


The Problem With Illium

by Drakontion



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Samara - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakontion/pseuds/Drakontion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the Collector Base, Samara returns to Illium to clean up a few little issues there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a secret Santa fill from the LJ Mass Effect community for the following prompt: _Fic: Samara leaves Shepard's crew and returns to Illium. Why? Unfinished business, because Morinth left a bit of a mess during her stay there._

I am considering doing a 2nd or 3rd part to this one, so if you're interested in that, please let me know :D

Huge hugs and internet cookies to Skeasel who read over this one for me. Mwah!

* * *

'

'

Samara sighed. Her meditations did not currently bring her peace. The endless scrolling vista of the stars was not the tranquil balm to her soul it usually was.

With a decisive movement, she got up and walked; long, graceful strides taking her everywhere and nowhere while she pondered what was wrong.

Her heels clicked on the decking as she made her way down the corridor and back again, thinking. She turned into the mess area, passing crew members eating, nodding absently to Mess Sergeant Gardner. The man looked… content. He was happily serving up whatever was on the menu for tonight's meal and bantering with those waiting to eat. He still moved slightly hesitantly, favoring his side after the rescue from the Collector base, but he performed his duties with purpose and care.

Samara's steps faltered as she was struck by a thought: purpose. Yes, that was what she was lacking. Her own personal quest was now ended with Shepard's help. Her oath to the commander was now expired with the destruction of the Collector base. For the first time in over four hundred years, she was without purpose. She was at a loose end. She was… bored. While it was a novel experience, she didn't appreciate it. She needed something to do, a new quest to devote herself to.

Smiling gently, Samara turned and made her way to the nearest extranet terminal. She had some research to do, and a favor to ask of Shepard. Though truth be told he never minded any excuse to call on the Shadow Broker these days.

oOo

The Code of the Justicars was rigid, unyielding. It did not allow for shades of grey, only black and white. Yes and no. Guilty and innocent.

The problem with Illium, Samara mused as she watched the Normandy lift gracefully from dock and disappear into the sunset, was that it was all grey. It was a place where criminality was legally defined and contractually ratified. And while she detested certain aspects of it – indentured servitude or red sand trading for example – provided it was done within the confines of the law, and provided she didn't probe too deeply, she was obliged to turn a blind eye.

Samara hefted a duffle bag, turned and strode to the trading floor, ignoring the concierge as she went, watching the activity around her through cynical eyes. Traders and buyers alike thronged and milled on the floor in a cacophony of commercial frenzy. The asari amongst them took one look at her and skittered out of her way, taking their non-asari companions with them, avoiding her path like so many pyjacks running from the presence of an alpha varren. Inwardly she couldn't help but feel slightly pleased.

Her elegant stalk faltered minutely with the fleeting recollection of Harbinger's dark voice: "Your species has caught the attention of those infinitely your greater." She shook her head and continued. Even though it hadn't been directed at her specifically, she still remembered the overweening arrogance, the cold superiority, the ruthless unfeeling alien-ness of it. It served as a welcome reminder: hubris, her besetting sin. Even after four centuries a Justicar, it still haunted her. She would atone tonight, in the privacy of her quarters. Once she found some, of course.

Samara sighed. And there was something she missed, already. After a few months of living on the Normandy, she missed the luxury of having her own quarters, having meals prepared for her. Most especially, she missed the companionship of like-minded warriors around her. It was surprising how quickly one grew used to these things, she mused. Well, she would register herself for tracking and see to her business. There was no point in delay.

The Justicar shifted her bag on her shoulder and continued on through the crowd, trailing a bubble of silence and peace behind her that was quickly swallowed by the ever-hungry gods of capitalism.

oOo

Tracking officer Dara was, as usual, buried to the neck in overdue reports and updates to be sorted through. She complained quietly to herself as she cleared her work list.

"Stupid reports," she grumbled as she filed entries. "Stupid transients and their stupid tracking requirements," she added, savagely hitting keys on her virtual keyboard. The dull thump of her fingers drumming the surface of her desk was in no way satisfying. It did, however, serve to mute the measured click of booted heels against the flooring of her office.

Consequently, the clearing of a throat behind her scared the crap out of Dara, and she whirled in her seat, hand pressed to her heart which was thumping unpleasantly.

"Don't _do_ that…" she started to exclaim, and then realized who it was.

Heeled boots planted firmly on the flooring, long legs elegantly clad in scarlet leather, a heavy duffle bag over one shoulder, and a smooth, impassive face with distinctive jewelry.

"Justicar Samara!" Dara stammered and jumped to her feet. "Please forgive me; it is a pleasure to have you here! Ah… to what do I owe the honor?"

"I am merely here to register myself for tracking, as is required."

Dara's face froze. "Tracking? You're… staying on Illium then?"

Samara inclined her head. "For the moment, yes."

"Um. May I ask why?"

Samara considered the officer before replying. "It has come to my attention that Illium has been experiencing problems with a certain Eclipse Sister who is trying to make a name for herself."

Dara look confused. " _All_ Eclipse Sisters try to make names for themselves, Justicar. That's what they do."

"This one, perhaps, has been going above and beyond the norm, Officer Dara. She has brought herself and her deeds to my attention."

Dara blanched, no mean feat for an asari. "I see. Well, uh, I'll just register you then, and you can be on your way."

Seating herself at her terminal, she quickly brought up a new screen and her fingers danced over the holographic keys. "And… there. You're registered."

Samara smiled gently. "My thanks, Officer Dara."

"You're welcome, Justicar. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Thank you, there is nothing I require. I will let you be about your business."

Dara heaved a sigh of relief as Samara turned and walked out of her station and into the crowds on the floor. She tapped her comm. system and dialed a number. "Detective? It's Dara. I have some good news and some bad news. Remember your little problem with the Sisterhood…?"

oOo

Samara had found a small, neglected Temple of the Goddess tucked away from the trading floor in one of the less hectic and more run down areas of the city, and the priestesses there had gladly offered her a cell for a few nights. She had spent most of the night in meditation and atonement, and had risen with the dawn to prepare herself for her hunt. She felt refreshed, cleansed, revitalized and eager.

She broke her fast in silence, surrounded by the aging but graceful forms of the priestesses. Many of them had seen Justicars at work in their long lifetimes. They glanced at her incuriously as she ate, and she felt humbled by their inattention. It was truly a timely reminder of her place and her vows.

Letting the peace of the Temple enfold her, she cleaned and checked her rifle, snapped it to her armor, and strode out of the building. She had much to do.

oOo

Detective Anaya's superiors had again been of no uncertain terms at her news. _Do not let the Justicar disrupt commercial operations or relations with the alien races._ Anaya snorted. She'd like to see any of them try to stop a Justicar from doing anything she wanted. She drank too much coffee, and spent the early hours of the morning nervously shuffling datapads on her desk, rereading meaningless emails, and fidgeting like a maiden on her first merc tour, waiting for the visitor she knew she would have.

Finally, when the caffeine was giving her the jitters and a dry mouth, she heard a stately, measured tread approaching across the floor, and looked up as the Justicar approached. She stood, smoothing sweat-dampened palms down the thighs of her uniform, and offered her hand. "Justicar Samara. Welcome back to my division. I hear you have another task in mind."

Samara looked at her hand curiously before taking it, almost gingerly. "Detective Anaya. It is good to see you again."

Anaya smiled. "I'm sure," she said dryly. She waved at the seat across the desk and took her own. "Now. What are you after, and how can I help?"

Seating herself gracefully, Samara crossed her legs and settled back. "It has recently come to my attention that you have an escalating issue with the remnants of the Eclipse Sisterhood."

The detective nodded shortly. That was certainly no secret. The Sisterhood had been decimated in the wake of Shepard's blitz through the spaceport several months ago, giving rise to struggles as various would-be leaders sought to fill the void created by Wasea's unlamented demise.

Samara leaned forward, gesturing slightly. "I've also heard that the Sisterhood has taken to increasing their murder count as a requirement for membership. That they have started to turn their attentions towards terrorizing innocent civilians. And that they're letting bystanders be caught in their crossfire."

Anaya grimaced. That was certainly true. In the last month alone the number of homicides in the port district had doubled. Daylight armed robberies by small bands of well trained, well equipped asari (who curiously bore no insignia or badge) had started taking place amongst the merchants and traders, to the extent that no one traveled by themselves any more if they could at all help it.

"Not to mention," Samara continued, "the recent attempt on your own life by the Sisterhood."

Anaya's eyes narrowed. "And just how did you find this out, Justicar?"

Samara gave her a small smile. "I have my sources, Detective. Or rather, my friends do."

Anaya harrumphed. "I'll just bet you do. It helps when your friends are considered heroes, though." She thought for a moment. "Okay I'll bite. What have you got, and what do you want?"

Samara blinked, slowly, and regarded her. "What I have is information on who is behind these problems, and her general location. What I _want_ is the ability to pursue this information and deal with this problem. Unhindered."

"I see." Anaya leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "It's the unhindered part that will cause the most problems, of course. My superiors are already on my ass… er, back about having you here." She got up and paced, thinking furiously while the Justicar watched.

"Were you planning on blowing up any buildings while you were here?" she asked.

"I will only do what needs to be done," Samara replied serenely.

The detective snorted. "That's what I'm afraid of." She waved her arm out at the spaceport beyond the station. "Repair crews are _still_ picking up pieces of gunship from down in the warehouses, you know. That kind of thing is bad for business."

Samara shrugged one elegant shoulder. "With all due respect, that was none of my doing. Blame Shepard for the explosions and the destruction, not me."

Anaya grinned. "Yes, I hear he's good at that." She smiled at Samara, the Justicar hesitantly returning the gesture. She came to a decision.

"Right. Here's what we'll do." She sat back down, gesturing. "I will hire you as a consultant. Your job is to formulate and execute the best plan for ridding us of our little Eclipse issue here. I assume you have no objections to signing a contract?" she queried.

The Justicar considered this. "I would have to study the clauses most carefully, but I do not see that that should be an issue.

Anaya nodded. "We will work it into your contract that you will have unilateral decision making and executory powers. I will remind my superiors of how much this little Eclipse spree is setting us back in staffing costs, at the very least, not to mention the political fallout from the continued incidents. In return, you should not be hounded by my superiors. How does that sound?"

Samara nodded. "I believe that will be satisfactory."

Anaya rubbed her hands together. "Good! Well, I'll start drawing this up. I'll have the contract sent to your quarters tonight. Where are you staying?"

"At the Temple of the Goddess in the Taran quarter, off Zila Street."

"Good. I know the place. I'll have a courier deliver it."

She stood and extended a hand. This time Samara took it firmly, without hesitation.

"I'm looking forward to working with you, Justicar."

"And I you, Detective."

Anaya sat down and immediately started typing. Samara strode out of the station. She had just reached the door when the detective called after her.

"Oh, Justicar. I don't suppose you'd care to share who's behind this?"

"Elnora," Samara said as the doors closed on her heels.

"Damn. Shepard should've killed her when he had the chance," Anaya grumbled.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Delays are what I do.

* * *

'

'

Anaya could hear the creak as her teeth ground together over the pounding of her headache and wondered if they'd shatter inside her mouth or simply crumble. Unfortunately dealing with her superiors often had this affect on her.

"Look, Chief," she tried again, "think about it like this. A Justicar working _with_ us, as opposed to _through_ us, has got to be a good thing, right? Right now we're in a position where we can help each other. We get to have our little problem dealt with by someone who has three times the experience of anyone on my squad, if not the whole district. The Justicar gets to keep her oath and not be harassed by us. Which, I might remind you, nearly didn't turn out so well last time." She couldn't keep the dryness from her voice at this last.

The holographic image flickered as the officer regarded her stolidly. Anaya sighed.

"Look, the fact is I don't have the resources to spare in taking the Justicar in. I've got officers doing double and triple duty and we're about to hit the no go zone on our stims." She leaned forward, resting her fists on the desk, and spoke quietly. "We need her. She doesn't need us. It's in our best interests to cooperate with her. Please."

Anaya looked into the orange glowing eyes of the hologram, trying to convey her desperation. It must have worked. After a few seconds' deliberation, her Chief nodded curtly, then terminated the call.

The detective leaned back in her chair and let out a tired, quiet whoop. She massaged her forehead, trying to relieve the pressure, and looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Good news, boss?"

She nodded, grinning tightly. "Good news. Send that contract off ASAP. And let's hope the Justicar is as efficient this time as she was last time."

oOo

The peace and serenity of the temple was a balm, enfolding her soul. The ball of energy before her hummed and pulsed contentedly in response to her skilled, soothing touch. Samara looked deeply into it without seeing it, her eyes awash in dark energy. She felt it course through her body, felt the minuscule sparks within her brain triggering tiny flows of energy, which she grasped and directed. She felt the motion of her cells within her body, the rushing of blood through her veins, and harnessed the forces they generated. She was filled to capacity with the transcendence of her power, and it sang within her.

For an untold time she remained, brimming, until a single quiet knock at her door roused her. Blinking, she let the ball of energy dissipate and climbed gracefully to her feet. Samara stepped over to the door, opening it only to reveal the retreating back of one of the priestesses. She looked down – there, on the floor, was an innocuous looking datapad.

Smiling gently, she stooped to retrieve it. It was time to get to work.

oOo

Samara breathed deeply, filtering city-tainted air through her nostrils as she crouched in the bowels of a dilapidated office building.

She made sure her rifle was secure before picking her way over broken and dented floor panels and around the debris of a failed business. Her last communiqué from the Shadow Broker had indicated that this building was often frequented by her quarry and those of her ilk, presumably to coordinate whatever nefarious schemes they were perpetrating.

So far as she could tell the building was currently deserted. However it was still light outside, so it stood to reason any activity wouldn't occur until night.

Samara glanced at golden beams of light slanting through broken, dusty windows and judged there to be only another hour to sundown. She wanted to find a secure listening post before then. She scanned the room and strode across the floor.

A subtle mechanical hum alerted her as she approached a dark corridor and she froze. There was a glint of metal in the darkness before her, and then a group of security drones burst out of the corridor and hovered menacingly before her.

The lead drone fired a short burst of energy at her. Her shields flickered but held and she dove for the dubious cover of a pair of crates. Gathering dark energy, she flung it at the nearest of the drones and watched in satisfaction as it was hurled backwards into the wall, were it spluttered briefly before sliding to the floor in a cascade of sparks. She unfastened her rifle and flicked the safety off, letting it charge while she studied the setting.

Two drones still hovered protectively in front of the corridor, while another two had risen to the ceiling where they were buzzing angrily. A group of three had circled to her left and were attempting to flank her.

Samara centered herself quickly and leveled her rifle. She breathed in, aiming for the ones in front of the corridor, and pulled the trigger on the exhale. Bullets impacted with machinery and the one on the left dropped to the floor. She ducked back behind cover as it overloaded, then flung another pulse of dark energy at the right hand drone. There was a concussive thump as it connected and the drone hurtled backwards into the darkness of the corridor. Energy sparked to her right, and she turned as her shields faltered under an assault from the group of three drones.

She strafed her rifle at them, making the drones bob in place, then gestured and trapped the three in a reave net. Their attack momentarily halted, she vaulted over her crate and searched for a more defensible point of cover, ducking from the anticipated fire from the two ceiling drones.

The drones on the ceiling circled but made no attempt to join in on the attack. Samara narrowed her eyes as she studied them, wondering why. Moving to a position where she could view them better, she heard the three drones behind her whining and knew her net was fading. She crouched behind an overturned desk and threw another reave net at them to keep them at bay. As the overhead drones made another pass she caught a glimpse of the reflective lens of a recording device. Samara frowned. So, someone was watching, were they?

She swung her rifle up to bear on the drones and squeezed the trigger. First one, then the other, exploded overhead and she knelt in the midst of a brief metallic rain, sparks flaring harmlessly against her shields. She brushed shrapnel from her shoulders and carefully placed her rifle on the ground.

Behind her the three drones had recovered and she could hear their stabilizers working as they advanced on her position. Grasping dark energy, she leant out from cover and gestured at them. Blue energy glowed around the three and forced them together with a resounding crash. The center drone dropped to the floor where it promptly exploded, while the other two listed off in opposite directions.

Samara scooped up her rifle, aimed, and fired quick bursts; watching dispassionately as they impacted and the drones disintegrated. They overloaded in quick succession before her as she stood and headed for the corridor, flicking out a spent heatsink as she approached. It sizzled and died as she strode past.

The corridor was still, quiet. The final drone was lying crumpled and broken on the floor several meters in. Samara frowned; she didn't think she'd hurled it that hard. She nudged the inert pieces of machinery, flipping them over with her boot. The drone's casing was heavily scored with scorch marks most definitely _not_ caused by her biotics. She dropped to her haunches, studying the wreckage and the corridor before her.

The walls were scratched and marked with age and the activities of who knew what was in here in times past. She ran her eyes over the markings, studying them… something about their placing was not quite right.

Fingering the debris, she scooped up a handful and scattered it before her. Sparks flew and the metallic taste of scorched electronics filled the air as the debris impacted with an energy field blocking the corridor. A red net criss-crossing the hallway was briefly apparent, glowing malevolently as the sparks died. She could feel the heat on her face as it flared. She'd have to find another way past it.

Samara stood and dusted her hands off. She smiled as she secured her rifle. She'd had her misgivings at first, accepting intel from the Shadow Broker. She was relieved to see Liara didn't know everything.

This hunt was proving slightly more challenging than she'd first thought.


End file.
